She spake, and left the cavern. All the nymphs Went with her weeping. Round their way the waves Of ocean parted. When they reached the fields Of fertile Troas, up the shore they went In ordered files to where, a numerous fleet, Drawn from the water, round Achilles lay The swift ships of the Myrmidons. To him His goddess mother came, and with a cry Of grief embraced the head of her dear son, And, mourning o’er him, spake these wingèd words:—
“Why weepest thou, my son? What sorrow now O’ercomes thy spirit? Speak, and hide it not. All thou didst pray for once, with lifted hands, Has been fulfilled by Jove; the sons of Greece, Driven to their galleys, and with thy good help Withdrawn from them, are routed and disgraced.”
The swift Achilles, sighing deeply, made This answer: “O my mother! True it is Olympian Jove hath done all this for me; But how can that delight me, since my friend, My well-beloved Patroclus, is no more? He whom, of all my fellows in the war, I prized the most, and loved as my own self, Is lost to me, and Hector, by whose hand He was cut off, has spoiled him of his arms— His dreaded arms, a wonder to the sight And glorious, which the gods of heaven bestowed On Peleus, sumptuous bridal gifts, when thou Wert led by them to share a mortal’s bed. Yet would that thou hadst evermore remained Among the immortal dwellers of the deep, And Peleus had espoused a mortal maid, Since now thy heart must ache with infinite grief For thy slain son, whom thou shalt never more Welcome returning to his home. No wish Have I to live or to concern myself In men’s affairs, save this: that Hector first, Pierced by my spear, shall yield his life, and pay The debt of vengeance for Patroclus slain.”
And Thetis, weeping, answered: “O my son! Soon must thou die; thou sayest true; that fate Hangs over thee as soon as Hector dies.”
Again the swift Achilles, sighing, spake: “Then quickly let me die, since fate denied That I should aid my friend against the foes That slew him.